


Wonderfully Terrifying

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artists, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: Evan has an art project due and he's hit a wall with it. A random doodle on a college band's flyer leads to inspiration...and so much more!
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Evan Lorne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39
Collections: Stargate Atlantis Secret Santa 2019





	Wonderfully Terrifying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/gifts).



> My recipient asked for the following: Evan Lorne/Ronon Dex, cute romance, college AUs, musician AUs
> 
> I hope you like it! Merry Christmas!
> 
>  **Edited to add:** The lovely moth2fic created some art based on this fic. [Check it out!](https://moth2fic.dreamwidth.org/135018.html)

_Falling in love is a wonderfully terrifying sensation_. – Steve Maraboli

“Ugh!” Jazz threw her paintbrush, narrowly missing hitting Evan in the head with it. “I can’t get this to come out right! I suck!”

Evan rolled his eyes. “You do not. What’s the problem?”

“It’s the damn marbling.” Jazz scowled at her canvas. She had flecks of blue paint on her face.

“Okay, first of all, no to this brush.” Evan picked it up and dumped it in the nearest water glass. Then he went to the supply cabinet and pulled out a spatula. “Second, this will work better. And your paint is still too thick. You need to add more water.”

He showed Jazz the technique he’d learned freshman year, trying not to rush her even though he could hear a clock ticking down in the back of his mind. Opening night for the student showcase was only a week away and his pieces needed to be finished and ready to hang, and he wasn’t anywhere near done.

“Thanks, Ev. I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

Evan left Jazz to her own project – regular studio work because freshmen didn’t participate in the student showcase – and got back to his own canvas. And just stared at it, as frustrated as Jazz had been.

The idea for his exhibition had come to him in a dream but translating that dream into finished canvas was proving more difficult than he thought. He had the two smaller pieces mostly done, but the main canvas kept coming out wrong. The showcase was a huge part of his grade, which added additional stress.

Sometimes he missed the commune on a soul-deep level. Life had been so much simpler there.

Jazz finished her marbling and left. Several other art students came and went, some of them working pottery, others doing sculpture. Evan cleaned up well after dinner, having made a minimal amount of progress. He’d spend some time with his sketchbook before bed to see if he could get a better handle on his main canvas.

“Evan!” Cali waylaid him as soon as he got to his floor. “We ordered wings. You in?”

“Oh. Well, I have –”

“You can study later. Come on. It’s girls’ night!”

Evan let himself be dragged back down to the second-floor lounge, where his little group of friends had already gathered. They greeted him with smiles and hugs and shoved a container of wings at him.

When he’d first come to St. Kitt’s, Evan had felt way out of his depth. At least when he started high school after years of being homeschooled, he still had the commune to return to every day. And then somehow he’d made friends with Cali, who had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever known, and she’d pulled him into her group of newly-minted girlfriends, and Evan once again had plenty of people he could hug when he needed to, or lounge around with in a big, comfy pile with no pressure or expectations.

Being the gay friend had a lot of perks.

Miko – deceptively sweet with a wicked, snarky sense of humor – asked him about his art project. Amber – small in stature but a giant in every other way – shared the latest news from the world of K-pop. Seirra – an Amazon with the sexiest voice Evan had ever heard – tried to read the bumps on Evan’s head because she was dabbling in things like phrenology and reflexology.

“This is the best part of wing night,” Cali said, holding up a limp piece of celery covered in buffalo sauce.

“Plus it’s a veggie,” Amber added. “Totally healthy.”

“Who’s in to see Strangeland tomorrow night?” Miko asked. “They’re playing at the Burton.”

“Count me out,” Evan said, licking wing sauce off his fingers. “This is all the social life I can afford until I get my art piece finished.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Seirra teased.

Evan wished he had more time to go out and do fun things with his friends, but he was on a tight schedule. In addition to the showcase, he also worked a couple nights a week at the campus coffee house and did some tutoring; school wasn’t cheap, and he’d only gotten a partial scholarship.

Miko handed him a crumpled piece of yellow paper. “In case you change your mind.”

It was a flyer for the band, which looked like it had been written with a Sharpie and photocopied. Just the name of the band and the time and place of their gig. Evan didn’t know much about marketing, but he’d bet most of Strangeland’s audience was generated through word-of-mouth because their advertising sucked.

Evan shoved the flyer in his backpack and forgot about it until later that night, when he was randomly doodling in his sketchbook because he couldn’t make his art project idea work. He saw the bright yellow corner sandwiched between his pile of textbooks and pulled it out, studying the simple design.

It would be easy enough to punch it up with some bold lettering, maybe an illustration of a drum kit or a guitar. Evan sketched out a new flyer. ONE NIGHT ONLY! STRANGELAND AT THE BURTON! He gave the whole thing a border comprised of music notes and beer bottles – the Burton was one of the dive bars downtown that catered to college kids – and cheekily tucked his initials into the corner.

As distractions went, it was a good one. But he was still no closer to finishing his project. 

Evan slipped out of his room and padded back downstairs in his socks and sweatpants. He stuck the flyer on Miko’s door for her to find in the morning, with a note that said her favorite band needed better PR. Then he went back to his room, a single since his roommate dropped out two weeks into the semester, and gave up on being productive for the evening.

Maybe he’d get some inspiration overnight.

*o*o*o*

“This you?”

Evan looked up (and up) at the guy standing on the other side of the library table. Wow. The guy was enormous, tall and muscled – well displayed in a black ribbed tank top –  
and sporting a head full of dreadlocks. He was holding the Strangeland flyer Evan had mocked up.

“What?”

“You make this?” The guy shook the flyer for emphasis. He had the most fascinating scar through his eyebrow.

“Yes?” Evan said hesitantly, not sure if he was being accused of something.

“Can you do more? We’ll pay.”

“More?”

Evan felt foggy, like he’d smoked too much weed, which was the only explanation for being so star-struck by someone he’d literally just met. He probably sounded like an idiot. 

The guy pulled a chair out and turned it around, sitting in it with his bare, well-defined arms over the back. “Is English not your first language? Yo hablo español.”

Evan gave himself a mental shake. “Can we start over? I’m Evan, I do speak English, and I’d be willing to talk about doing more flyers.”

The guy grinned and Evan could feel his brain trying to short-circuit again. He shook the very large hand that extended across the table.

“Ronon. Strangeland is my band.” He slid the flyer across the table. “Miko gave me this. Says you’re an art student.”

“I was just messing around when I did this,” Evan admitted. “I have a big project coming due and I’ve been stuck on it.”

Ronon nodded. “You’re busy. Maybe some other time.”

He started to get up and Evan’s hand shot out of its own accord, palm up in the universal symbol of ‘stop, don’t take your handsome face away’.

“It wouldn’t take me long to put something together for you. When do you need it by?”

Ronon settled back in the chair. “Our next gig is Saturday. The Pines.”

He plucked Evan’s pencil off his notebook and scribbled the information on the flyer, then slid both back across the table. His handwriting was atrocious, but Evan was able to decipher it. Ronon had included his phone number, too, which was sensible and had no reason to make Evan blush.

“I can get you something tomorrow. Will that be enough time to make copies and put them around?”

“Plenty of time.” Ronon shifted a bit in the chair so he could stick one of his very large hands in his pocket. He came out with a handful of crumpled bills, which he dropped on top of Evan’s notebook. “I took up a collection.”

Evan didn’t count it, but it looked to be around thirty bucks. He wanted to say it was unnecessary, because it was, but he also knew that starving artists weren’t just a trope. At the very least, that money could fund a couple more wing nights.

“Thanks.”

“Be waiting for your call,” Ronon said. He stood up and returned the chair to its original position. “Later.”

“Later,” Evan echoed faintly, watching Ronon walk away. There was no part of that guy that wasn’t worth admiring, and Evan felt himself blushing again.

He’d promised himself when he got into college that he’d focus solely on his academics. It had served him well so far, keeping him safe from the same crazy relationship dramas some of his friends went through. He owed it to his mother, who was struggling to provide what the scholarship didn’t, and he owed it to himself to be as successful as possible.

Sometimes, though, he second-guessed that decision.

*o*o*o*

Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to empty his mind.

_In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth._

The calming voice in his head belonged to Aunt Gladdie. He’d learned how to meditate at her knee when he was four or five years old, as did all the kids on the commune. She’d always told him that quiet introspection could help get things unstuck, in a metaphysical sense, and Evan was hoping she was right.

_Feel the tension begin to melt away, leaving through your fingertips and toes. Take a long, slow, deep breath, hold, then exhale. Empty your lungs._

Evan deepened his breaths and felt himself relaxing, everything softening around the edges. He had the idle thought that he should call his mom for some advice, since she was an artist too.

_Take another deep breath in, nice and slow. Hold it…and let it go. Feel yourself drift into a state of deep relaxation._

Evan visualized relaxation as warm water. It flowed gently over his head and down his face, everything it touched relaxing and softening, the tension running out with it as it passed. Forehead, cheeks, jaw, neck, shoulders…everything covered in warm water. Aunt Gladdie used that method of visualization with the younger kids to help them learn to meditate, but Evan still found it effective.

As his entire body relaxed and all the active thoughts became pleasantly muffled and distant, he opened himself up to inspiration. He pictured his art project, a fanciful dream trying to become reality: unknown planets and constellations, and a grassy hill dominated by a giant stone ring that stood almost in silhouette.

There was still something missing, something that would complete the scene, but the more Evan tried to focus in and pin it down, the more the whole scene started to slip away. And then intrusive thoughts of deadlines and grades pushed in and he gave the whole thing up with a sigh.

He reversed the visualization, this time imagining warm, golden light moving up his body from his toes to the top of his head. He blinked open his eyes and let himself go horizontal, lying on his back and looking up at his unremarkable ceiling. Evan still felt peaceful and relaxed, but also a little frustrated with himself. Never had a piece of art been so elusive or required so much effort.

Maybe he wasn’t the artist he thought he was.

*o*o*o*

“Mark the calendar!” Cali crowed, her arm linked through Evan’s. “He’s going out on a Saturday night!”

Evan rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna love it,” Seirra promised.

Miko just looked smug, like she’d arranged everything behind the scenes. Maybe she had. Evan had done the second flyer for Strangeland, then chickened out and texted Ronon instead of calling him. Someone else had come to pick up the flyer, but they’d also given Evan an invite to the show, saying Ronon really hoped he would come. Which was a terrible reason to miss a couple hours of work in the studio.

The Pines was a student apartment complex on the edge of campus, set back from the road and surrounded by the trees that gave it its name. Only seniors could live there, and the whole place had a reputation for loud, drunken parties. 

Strangeland was setting up around the back where there was a patio. The entire yard was packed with students, some on camp chairs and others on blankets. Evan paid the cover charge and helped Seirra spread out the blanket she’d brought for them to sit on. They couldn’t see the band, but the excessive number of speakers ensured they’d hear them well enough.

The band started playing without any preamble, going right into a cover of _Hard to Handle_ , a song Evan was vaguely familiar with.

_Baby here I am_  
_I’m the man on the scene_  
_I can give you what you want_  
_But you gotta come home with me_

He wasn’t musical himself, but Evan thought Strangeland sounded really, really good. When the girls got up to dance in place, he joined them just to get a better look.

Wow.

There were other members of the band, but Evan only had eyes for Ronon. He was playing the bass, his white shirt unbuttoned to show off his impressive torso, and singing, his whole body in motion with the beat of the song. His voice was rich and rumbling. Evan found himself mesmerized. Again.

_Boys will come along a dime by the dozen_  
_That ain't nothing but ten cent lovin'_  
_Pretty little thing, let me light your candle_  
_'Cause mama I'm sure hard to handle now, yessir'am_

Evan’s body was moving of its own accord, swaying in time to the music. Cali nudged him with her elbow.

“You want a towel for that drool?”

“Shut up.” Evan’s face flushed hot. But he couldn’t stop watching Ronon.

For the entire hour that Strangeland played, Evan stayed on his feet. He did take time to notice the other members of the band, only because it made him feel less like a starstruck teenager.

There was a second vocalist, a woman dwarfed by Ronon who looked just as exotic. She was a study in bronze, from her hair to her skin to her leather dress. The drummer was a dark-skinned kid that barely looked old enough to be in college; he wore an eyepatch, like a pirate, and Evan wondered if it was an affectation or something he actually needed to wear. The final band member was a girl with impossibly red, curly hair who was currently shredding on her bright blue electric guitar.

The red-head sat in front of Evan in World History, he was pretty sure. The other two didn’t look familiar.

By the end of the show, Miko was out of red bean mochi and Cali was buzzed on warm beer. Seirra rolled up the blanket and made suggestions for tracking down something more substantial than snacks. The party would continue at the Pines, but there was only so much crappy beer a person could drink.

“The Skeller’s still open,” Cali said. “I could eat my weight in Skeller burgers right now.”

“What about pizza?”

“Greasy pepperoni pizza sounds super good,” Seirra agreed, slinging an arm around Miko’s shoulders. “Amber should be ready for a break right about now, too.”

“You guys have fun.” Evan was hungry, but he had ramen back in his room. “I need to get back to work.”

He was soundly booed, but that was followed by hugs and Miko tucking the last of the bag of dry roasted edamame in his hand.

“Don’t be a literal starving artist, _tomo_ ,” Miko said.

Evan headed back through the Pines courtyard alone, because Seirra got waylaid by a friend and the others stayed behind to wait for her. It was still relatively early, and he planned on swinging by the studio to take another look at his main canvas. If he could just figure out what was missing he could get the damn thing finished.

But all he could think about was Ronon playing his guitar like some 80s rock god. Only with better hair.

“Wait up!” As if thinking about him had produced him, Ronon slipped out of the courtyard, guitar case strapped to his back. “Band wanted to thank you. Lots of people commented on the new flyer.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

“Where you headed?”

“The OP. I’m working on a project.”

Ronon nodded. His shirt, now buttoned, was clinging to his chest in a very distracting way, and Evan reminded himself that it was probably soaked with sweat and there was nothing sexy about sweat. Well…there never had been before.

“Mind if I walk with you?”

Evan glanced back to where the noise from the Pines party was coming from. “You don’t want to stay?”

Ronon shrugged. “I’ve been to better parties.”

He started walking and after a moment’s hesitation Evan fell in step with him. Ronon had a long stride, but an unhurried pace. 

“How’d you like the show?”

“You’re really good,” Evan answered honestly. “The whole band. Do you only do covers?”

“We had a few original songs in there.”

Evan was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized them, but the music he’d grown up with had been strictly folk and mellow 70s stuff. He’d been exposed to more popular and current music since coming to St. Kitt’s, but there was still a lot he didn’t know.

“It all sounded great.”

“Thanks. We’re getting better.”

They walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to the Octavia Potter Fine Arts Center – shortened to OP by everyone on campus – and Evan idly wondered if Ronon was sexually fluid. Surely he had people of all genders throwing themselves at him.

“Can I see some of your art?” Ronon asked when they got to the OP. 

Evan had been thinking of suave ways to say goodnight that didn’t make him sound like a goofball, so he wasn’t prepared for the question. “My art?”

Ronon raised his scarred eyebrow.

“Right. Sure.”

It was late, so Evan had to use his key card to get into the studio. He felt incredibly self-conscious as he led Ronon to his easels, his work covered by drop clothes to protect it. He had a stack of finished canvases propped against the wall, and countless sketchbooks, any of which would have been sufficient to show off his particular artistic style. 

“This is what I’m working on right now,” he said, exposing all three canvases on the easels. “It’s for a student showcase.”

Maybe Evan was just that desperate for some feedback. Why else would he show Ronon an incomplete piece, one which he wasn’t confident in? He’d been raised to appreciate the value of being openly vulnerable, but Ronon was so masculine that Evan was left feeling off-kilter. He didn’t know what he was feeling, or what he wanted.

“You have a great eye for detail,” Ronon said, leaning in close to the main canvas. “I feel like I could reach out and touch it.”

His finger hovered over the stone ring, tracing it without making actual contact.

“I dreamed it,” Evan admitted. “This is the only way I can get it out of my head.”

“’Guess I left the world behind. But my love is like the galaxy, seems slow but it sure does shine. And when I’m gone you’ll know me by the friends I leave behind.’”

Evan didn’t know if it was a song or a poem, or something Ronon had made up on the spot, but when Ronon turned around to look at him, the unfinished painting behind him, something inside Evan burst open and made his breath catch in his throat.

Of course. Of course!

Evan’s blood was practically singing with the desire to pick up his paintbrush and finish what he’d started. He knew now what the dream had been lacking and how to bring it to fruition.

“You’re amazing!” Without even thinking about what he was doing, Evan tugged Ronon’s head down by his dreadlocks and kissed him full on the mouth. “You saved my project!”

He turned to the cabinet where he kept his paints, his brushes, and his plastic palettes, already picturing the changes he was going to make to his canvas.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Ronon said.

It was hard to tell if he was annoyed at being brushed off or not, but Evan was so distracted by his own finished vision for the painting that he couldn’t be bothered to ask. The urge to touch brush to canvas was almost overwhelming.

He opened himself up to inspiration and started mixing his paints.

*o*o*o*

“Oh, Ev,” Amber breathed. “This is stunning.”

The exhibition was in full swing, the Beane Gallery packed with students, teachers, community members. Evan had finished his piece in a kind of fever dream, barely eating or sleeping until it was finished. He missed a couple classes and got someone to cover his shift at the coffee house, because he couldn’t focus on anything else until it was done.

He was still a little shaky, like coming down off the best high he’d ever had.

“I love how you gave the stone texture,” Cali said. “That’s really cool.”

“It’s gesso,” Evan explained. “Couple layers of it.”

The stone ring was the focal point of the main piece, especially now that it was literally coming up off the canvas, but it was the figure in the foreground that elevated the piece from mere landscape and gave it a story. A soul.

Miko elbowed Evan. “I see you found some inspiration. You’re welcome.”

“Oh, sure, take all the credit,” Amber jokingly complained.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Evan said with a grin, and pulled all his friends in for a group hug.

He stayed behind when they wandered off to look at the other art offerings on display, in case one of his teachers had a question for him as they made their own rounds, judging and grading.

_Stranger in a Strange Land, artist: Evan Lorne_

Evan read the tag below his display, still amazed that he’d gotten it done in time. It was work he was proud of, and it had put to rest the doubts he’d had about his career path. This was exactly what he was meant to do.

“Looks good,” said a familiar voice over Evan’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” He stood aside to give room to see the whole display. He’d been hoping Ronon would come, had sent him a text message the day before, but Evan was also nervous. Not just about the unsolicited kiss, but also how Ronon felt about being painted into the scene.

The figure in the foreground was a warrior, dreadlocks swapped out for wavy hair that lifted on an unseen breeze. He was clearly injured but still held himself tall, one hand gripping tightly to the shaft of a spear that was tinted red with blood. A solitary figure struggling to stay alive on a strange world, his expression weary but still fierce.

“This is really expressive,” Ronon said. “Tells a great story.”

“’There ain’t no pain like a wounded soul, but there ain’t no soul can’t beam it hope. A love is good when the mood’s real slow. There ain’t no pain like a wounded soul,’” Evan said softly.

Ronon turned around, grinning. “You know Blitzen Trapper?”

“I do now.”

The lyrics Ronon had shared in the studio stuck with Evan; he’d heard them over and over again in his head until he had to track down the source. The band had a folksy sound to some of their songs that reminded Evan of nights around the commune bonfire, singing Bob Dylan, and Simon and Garfunkle, and Arlo Guthrie.

“You wanna go out sometime?” Ronon asked. “For dinner maybe?”

The epiphany Evan had in the studio wasn’t just limited to his art. If he wasn’t going to live his life to the fullest, even if it meant experiencing heartache and pain, he may as well just be doing paint by numbers. His art was meant to reflect the world and all it had to offer, and if he kept himself shut off from that how could he hope to excel as an artist?

It was terrifying, putting himself out there. Leaving himself open. But it was kind of wonderful, too. 

“I’d really like that,” Evan said.

When Ronon leaned in for a kiss, Evan didn’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Writing this fic was like pulling teeth, but only because I've been having as much trouble with words as Evan was having with his project. Thanks so much to SherlockianSyndromes for the hand-holding, cheerleading, and beta assistance. I couldn't have done it without you, friend!
> 
> **Song List:**
> 
> [Hard to Handle, The Black Crowes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtLbE3IUY2U)  
> [Stranger in a Strange Land, Blitzen Trapper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkD9VUt11Fo)  
> [Shine On, Blitzen Trapper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UOoehCjxjc)


End file.
